


Loving You a Little More Every Minute

by acaelousqueadcentrum



Series: Heart to Heart [5]
Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: Baby Fic, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaelousqueadcentrum/pseuds/acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Showers and names. Part of <em>Heart to Heart</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving You a Little More Every Minute

Rather than do a bunch of showers—a work one, a friends one, a family one—Holly, when Traci had pulled her aside to ask about a baby shower, had suggested that there just be one for everybody. She could keep Gail on her best behavior for a single shower, she was certain. But if they had to do more than one, well, there was no way she’d be able to keep Gail from grumping about, from glaring at people and making ungrateful comments. Even with just the one to go to, Gail had woken up and tried to convince Holly that only one of The Rookie’s moms needed to show up. 

She meant Holly, of course. 

“Oh, really,” Holly said as she stretched on her side of the bed, “and what do you plan to do today if you’re not coming to be pampered and adored at your baby shower?” 

Gail threw her body pillow at her wife. “They’re not coming to pamper and adore me, Hol, they’re coming to gawk and pet my belly and tell me horror stories about labor and babies. And advice, Lunchbox, they’re going to try to give us advice about how to raise the kid. I bet you an orgasm that my Aunt Marlene and your sister-in-law come to blows over breastfeeding or formula again.” 

Holly just rolled her eyes at her wife and then rolled out of bed. 

“And,” Gail continued, “if I stay home, then I won’t arrest anyone. I’m on desk duty, Hol, I’m itching to arrest someone. If one more person rubs my belly, or tells me about the joy of natural childbirth, I’m going to put them in handcuffs. And I’m going to enjoy it. And that’ll just make Christmas awkward this year. I know how much you love Christmas.” 

She followed Holly into the bathroom and flipped up the toilet seat to sit down and pee while Holly stripped and started the shower. 

“Plus,” Gail said, flushing the toilet and washing her hands, “if you let me stay home I’ll clean things. And make dinner. And … and … and I’ll do laundry. The right way. I’ll sort things, Holly. By color.” 

She heard Holly laughing from behind the shower curtain and began pulling off her pajama pants and the great big hooded sweatshirt she’d stolen from Steve a few weeks ago when her belly had officially outgrown all of Holly’s, which she’d started wearing after The Rookie got too big for her to wear her own. Gail’d temporarily appropriated most of the warmer articles of clothing in the house, as pregnancy had left her freezing most of the time. Their OB-GYN had told them that it wasn’t unusual to be cold during a pregnancy, even if most women had the opposite problem. But even she’d laughed when Holly mentioned having to sleep in just her panties and a sports bra so she wouldn’t overheat next to the pile of blankets that had taken over her wife’s side of the bed.

“Gail, honey,” Holly said as her wife joined her in the shower, “you can’t stay home. Our friends and our family are throwing us a party to celebrate The Rookie. Because they love us, and because they’re excited for our baby.” 

Holly embraced her from behind, putting her hands on the hard roundness of Gail’s belly. She nuzzled her nose into the soft blonde hair at the nape of her wife’s neck. 

“Lunchbox, please,” Gail whined and scrunched her nose even as she leaned her head back toward Holly, “don’t make me go.” 

Holly moved her hands from Gail’s belly to the blonde’s lower back, spanning her fingers over her wife’s hips and digging her thumbs into the tight muscles. Gail groaned deeply in appreciation, and arched back almost involuntarily, feeling the constant ache ease a bit with her wife’s ministrations. 

“I know you don’t want to go, baby, but we have to,” Holly said as she lathered up a loofah. “We really do. But after we get there, and after we say hello to everyone and spend some time talking to people, if you still want to leave we’ll tell everyone you’re not feeling well and come home, okay?” 

She could feel Gail inhale deeply before letting out a loud sigh. 

“Fine,” her wife said, turning around to face her. “But I’m holding you to that. And the orgasm bet. And I’m definitely not doing the laundry now.” 

Holly laughed again as she started to drag the soft material over Gail’s skin. 

“Let’s be honest, Gail, you weren’t going to do the laundry even if I let you stay home.” 

The blonde shook her head slyly. “Nope,” she said, as she brought her hands up to rest on Holly’s breasts, tracing her thumbs over the dusky nipples. 

“Gail,” Holly said with a sharp inhale of breath, “we don’t have time for this, we’re going to be late.” 

But the protest was weak, and they both knew it. Holly dropped the loofah as Gail stepped in closer to kiss at the underside of her wife’s jaw. 

“You said we had to go, Lunchbox. You didn’t say we had to show up on time.” 

~

And they didn’t. They were almost an hour late. Not counting the time Holly built in by telling Gail they had to leave a full half hour before they actually needed to. But to Holly’s relief everyone just assumed that Gail was being her usual grumpy self and not that they’d used up all the hot water in the shower before moving back to the bed. 

For a few minutes there after her second orgasm, Holly almost caved on the whole baby shower thing. But she didn’t. She held strong. Even as Gail collapsed forward on top of her, and then rolled off to the side, and they lay, sweaty and panting, skin to skin. She’d dragged them both into a very quick shower, grateful that the hot water was back by then, and then nagged Gail along until they were both ready to go. 

They probably wouldn’t have been very late if they’d left at that point. But Gail had come out of the bedroom in this navy blue sundress with tiny white polka dots, the one that ended just at mid-thigh. And she looked so gorgeous, so healthy and loved. Her blonde hair was up in a messy ponytail, exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck and shoulders, and her skin had this beautiful rosy glow to it. 

Holly couldn’t help herself. Nerves still humming with arousal, she’d crossed the bedroom to where her wife stood before the full-length mirror of the closet. She backed Gail up against the wall and planted her hands along the curve of her wife’s hips, fitting her mouth over the blonde’s and entangling their tongues. She let her hands wander up and down Gail’s body, let her fingers dart under the hem of that blue dress and slowly walk up to rest against the warm, wet fabric of Gail’s panties before slipping under and into the sweet heat of her wife’s sex. And then she’d taken Gail, hard and fast, her thumb a blur over Gail’s sensitive clit. 

Gail could only hold on, could only breathe heavily into the mouth attached to her own. At the apex, she thrust her head back, struggling to take a stuttering, shuddering breath as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her, emptied her. She clutched at the back of her wife’s shirt, grasping at great fistfuls of fabric as her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. 

The world came back rushing back in and she could hear herself gasping for air, could feel the warmth of Holly’s body pressed against her own. She laughed as she felt the baby in her belly squirm and stretch. 

“I think you woke someone up,” she whispered into her wife’s ear just as the baby delivered a sharp kick to her side. 

“So I gathered,” Holly answered, feeling the baby’s kicks against her own body. “Hey, there, Rook,” she said, rubbing her palm over the last place she’d felt the gentle nudging of a foot, “I hope you’re enjoying the endorphin rush.” 

Gail sniggered. 

~

The shower actually went off without a hitch. 

After the guests of honor finally showed up, that is. 

Traci and the grandmas-to-be kept the guest list relatively small, only inviting people that Holly and Gail would actually want there. No political invitees for Elaine. No random acquaintances. No one that they hadn’t talked to in more than a year. 

But all of their work friends were there. Holly’s college friends. Gail’s aunt and cousin. Holly’s brothers and sister and their families. Everyone they loved. 

Gail ended up having a great time. Traci had kept Judy—Holly’s mom—from planning any of the usual baby shower games. Nobody was going to have to identify a diaper chocolate bar or play Wheel of Fortune with the names of baby items. All fine for the usual baby shower, she’d assured Judy, but not for Gail Peck’s baby shower. And she’d reined in Elaine’s impulse to plan a police-officer themed party. So there would be no little badges for people to write name suggestions on, and the cake would not be decorated to look like the logo of the Toronto police service. Again, all good, she’d told Elaine, but not something that Gail or Holly would want for their shower. Not even if they’d caved to Steve and Oliver’s teasing and started referring to the baby as “The Rookie.” 

Instead, it was just a pleasant gathering of people. The Peck’s backyard was decorated with green and yellow streamers—Holly was very particular about being gender neutral and if they knew the sex of the baby they weren’t telling anyone—and the general theme was the zoo. All the party things—plates, napkins, gifts—were decorated with adorable little baby zoo animals. 

By the end of the afternoon, the expectant mothers had received just about everything their new baby could possible need. Receiving blankets and washcloths. An adorable little hooded bath robe with monkey ears and a tail. Bottles and soothers. Stuffed animals of all varieties of phylum and order. Tiny baby outfits. Bibs that declared “I love my moms” or “I’m awesome and I know it.” Or Steve’s favorite (and not just because it was part of his gift), the one with the police cruiser and the words “Freeze, dirtbag” embroidered underneath. 

They’d received books to read to their little one, baby monitors, a stroller. Things they had no idea they’d need—the infant nail care kit had stumped Gail for a few minutes. She had no idea that she’d have to pay attention to the baby’s nails until Traci laughed and told everyone about bringing Leo home, and how his nails had grown so fast she could barely keep up with them. Poor boy was always scratching himself, she’d told them all. 

But the gift that brought tears to Gail’s eyes (Holly would readily admit that she’d cried more than once already) was from Holly’s dad. He’d enlisted Bill and Steve and Henry to help him bring it up from the basement and out into the yard. 

There was no good way to wrap it, and so he’d just tied a big, soft velvety bow around it. 

It was a rocking horse. A gorgeous wooden rocking horse that he must have started working on the very day Holly and Gail had dropped by to share their news. 

Holly had gasped when she saw it first, saw what her father had made for them and their child. 

But Gail was silent. And then her breath had hitched and she felt the wet sheen of tears gather in her eyes. She’d known that David had taken up woodworking in the years since he’d retired; he usually made little knick-knacks for everyone for Christmas. But this, this gorgeous rocking horse was amazing. The work he’d put into it, the hours … it was beyond belief. 

And when he revealed that Bill had helped, that her own father had been going over on the weekends to help saw and sand, build and stain this beautiful gift? Gail couldn’t have stopped the tears then if she’d wanted to. 

Thankfully, that was the final present. 

The party had broken up shortly after that, or maybe it hadn’t, but Holly had bundled Gail up into Steve’s truck, which they’d borrowed to haul all the gifts home in. 

Of course, one trip wasn’t going to be enough. So Holly dropped Gail off at their home and unloaded the first batch of gifts before returning to the Peck homestead to pick up the rest. It took about an hour to load everything else up, and Bill and Steve lend a hand with the heaviest gifts, the rocking-horse and the dark wooden crib that Holly’s siblings gave them. But soon enough everything was piled into the unfinished nursery and Bill and Steve were pulling out of the driveway in Steve’s truck, their Prius safely tucked away in the garage. 

“Hey,” Holly said as she kicked her heels off, “you forgot a present. Your dad handed it to me just before they left.” 

She came over to the couch with a small wrapped gift in her hands. She sat next to Gail and plucked a cherry out of the bowl resting atop her wife’s pregnant belly. Gail pouted for a moment before swiping a finger along Holly’s lips to capture a bit of cherry juice staining that perfect mouth. 

Holly just smiled and looked over at her wife. The blonde looked tired—it had been a busy day—but relaxed. She’d changed out of her navy dress into a pair of Steve’s old sweatpants and thrown on a big, roomy sleep shirt. Her feet were tucked into a thick pair of fleecy socks, and she’d taken her hair down. She looked comfortable, something that was getting harder and harder to come by as her pregnancy advanced. 

“So, Lunchbox,” Gail said as she spit out a cherry pit, “where’s this gift?” 

Holly handed the small box over, exchanging it for the bowl of cherries. She ignored Gail’s glare as she picked through the discarded pits, looking for any leftover fruit. 

Gail poked at her, “Um, Hol, I can’t open this.” 

“No,” Holly said as she put the bowl of pits on the coffee table, “why’s that?” 

“It’s not for me, and I’m an officer of the law. If I opened this, bad things could happen.” 

Holly sniggered, but took the present that her wife handed her. Gail was right, she wasn’t the intended recipient. The label just under the ribbon had her own name on it, written in Elaine’s neat, precise hand. 

Gail watched as Holly looked the present over, examining every corner and side. “It’s probably not a bomb, Hol,” she said with a smirk. “Elaine loves you the most, especially now that you’ve knocked me up. If it’s addressed to you it’s probably safe to open.” 

She doesn’t even blink when Holly rolls her eyes. “Of course she loves me the most, I tamed her wildest cub. What do you think it is,” she asked her wife, sliding a finger under the neatly taped edge of the wrapping paper. 

“No idea, Lunchbox, but I’m curious. Open faster.” 

Holly smiled at her wife’s usual impatience. They tended to drive each other crazy with their gift-opening habits. Gail liked to dive in and rip the paper away, but Holly was more of a savor and preserve the pretty paper type. If anything, taunting from Gail usually made her go just a little bit slower. 

But not today. Today she was just as curious as Gail was, just as unsure about what awaited them. 

Nothing she could have imagined would have lived up to the truth. 

When she finally got the paper off and opened up the decorative box, Holly gasped. 

~

Gail’s patience only lasted a moment before she leaned in closer to see what had her wife speechless. 

Under layers of translucent tissue paper sits a very old book, what looks to be an early edition of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. In French. 

“Wow,” Gail whispered, “I’ve never seen this outside the study. My mom doesn’t let anyone touch it.” She put forth a finger to trace along the lines of the gift, but the habits of childhood kept her from touching it. “I wanted to take it into school for a project on Victor Hugo in my grade ten French class and she refused. She said it was too valuable for me to play around with.” 

Holly looked back and forth between her wife and the book, still unable to comprehend what her mother-in-law has given them. 

“What,” she started to speak and then stops, swallows, and tries again. “What is this, Gail?” 

Gail looked at her with soft eyes, and leaned in to kiss her lips. 

“This is my mom’s copy of Les Miserables,” she answers. “Well, one of her copies. She has one in English that she actually reads from. And another in French. But this is the important one. Her dad gave it to her when she graduated from college, and her Grandfather Baptiste gave it to him when he married her mother. It’s been in the family for years, I guess, a first edition that some family member brought over when they emigrated from France. It’s worth a fortune according to book collectors but as a family heirloom it’s pretty much priceless.” 

Nothing Gail could say would make Holly feel better. Her mother-in-law has given her a priceless heirloom, has entrusted her with a Peck family legacy, and she has no idea why. 

“I think your mother made a mistake, Gail,” she said quietly, wanting to close up the box and protect the precious gift inside but unable to make her hands move, “I think she mixed up the tags. This is probably meant for you.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes. “I bet if you open up the cover, you’ll see your name inside, Hol. Right under Elaine’s.” She reached over to gingerly lift the front cover. 

Sure enough, last in a list of names written in fading ink was Holly’s own. “Pour Holly,” the short message read in Elaine’s strong script, “dont l’amour nous a tous apporté tellement.” 

“Gail, I don’t understand,” Holly said, and Gail knew she wasn’t referring to the language barrier. Her wife looks scared and lost, confused. And if the moment wasn’t so full of meaning, if the moment wasn’t so important, Gail would be amused to see such a simple thing as a book throw Holly for such a loop. 

But it isn’t just a book, and it isn’t simple. 

And so she planted another kiss on her wife’s cheek, and then took the box and the book and put them on the table next to the empty bowl. 

“I think I do,” she said, and then took a deep breath. “When I was born, I had colic, I guess. And I was always crying. No matter what my parents did, I wouldn’t stop. For the first couple of months, I just screamed, or so Steve says. I think he’s exaggerating a bit, but apparently I was a bit of a difficult baby. So one night my dad has to work a night shift and Steve’s sleeping over at a friend’s house, and it’s just Elaine and me. Just mom and I.” 

As she spoke, Gail scooted back toward one of the arms of the couch and lifted her legs into Holly’s lap. 

“But, of course, I wouldn’t stop crying. So she sits down the chair in the study where she’d been reading the book—her other French version I guess, there’s no way she’d risk getting baby spit all over this one—and lays me down to cry in her lap. And she starts reading the book out loud.” 

Holly listened to her wife’s story as she gently massaged the feet in her lap. 

“And according to her,” Gail continued, “after a few minutes of Jean Valjean, I started to quiet down. So she kept reading. It became a thing, she’d read to me when I was fussing and I’d quiet down. Maybe I just liked the French or something, but it worked. So she kept doing it. And when I was older, at bedtime or when I was home sick, I always asked her to read it to me. I was probably the only kid whose mom read her Victor Hugo, who knew who Jean Valjean was, but I loved it.” 

“It means a lot to you, this book and the story of your mom reading it to you,” Holly observed, starting to understand why she’d been given this incredible gift. 

Gail nodded. “Yes, but not just because of that. The older I got the more I wanted to know about why my mom loved the book. Because it wasn’t just an heirloom to her. If it was, then she’d just have that copy, you know?” 

Holly nodded. 

“So one day I asked her why she liked the book, why she read it over and over again, in French and in English. And what she explained, things made sense. Why she and my dad did what they did. Why they weren’t at home all the time, why they were out helping other people. It was the first time I realized that they didn’t work long hours and nights and weekends because they didn’t want to be at home with Steve and me, but because they believed in something. In law and order, yes, but also the duty we all have to each other. They were out on the streets, they wore the badge and the gun because they believed in something.” 

“What,” Holly said, “what did your mom tell you?” 

Gail looked up at her and smiled. 

“She told me that the book helped her to remember the difference between the letter of the law and its spirit. That it helped her keep in mind that most people don’t commit crimes because they want to, but because they think they have to, because they think they have no other options. And that’s always stuck with me,” Gail said as she rolled her shoulders to release some kinks, “I mean, I see a lot of stupid people in my job. People who do stupid things for stupid reasons, but then there are some people who have been so beat down by life that they really, truly do think they don’t have any other options. And those are the people that the law doesn’t always serve. When I see those people, I hear Elaine’s voice in my head, and not in the usual way. It helps me to remember that sometimes ‘Serve and Protect’ means more than ‘Arrest and Book.’” 

She let her voice trail off as Holly slowly massaged the muscles of her legs, pulling out aches that the strain of carrying the baby’s extra weight had caused. 

“That’s beautiful, Gail,” Holly said, the first to break the gentle quiet. 

Gail didn’t say anything, just smiled back at her wife, and reached a hand over—over the rise of her belly—to take Holly’s. 

“It really is, you know,” Holly spoke again, “and I think I understand. Why your mom gave me the book, I mean.” 

“Good,” Gail whispered and gave Holly’s hand a gentle squeeze, “good.”


End file.
